E    URELIAN 


R'    LEGIES 
.lTISS-   ARMAN 


»ri 


i!;i;;.ii)l''in:t 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

And  Other  Elegies 


By  Bliss  Carman 

Author  of 

Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre,  Behind  the  Arras, 

Ballads  of  Lost  Haven,  [^c. 


VTCRESCIT 


Lamson,  Wolffe  and  Company 

Boston,  New  York  and  London 
MDCCCXCVIII 


Copyright,  1898, 
By  Lamson,  Wolffe  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Noriuood  Press 

y.  S.  Gushing  &  Co. — Berwick  &  Smith 

Nortvood  Mass.   U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

By  the  Aurelian  Wall,  9 

The  White  Gull,  15 

The  Country  of  Har,  32 

To  Richard  Lovelace,  42 

A  Seamark,  44 

The  Word  of  the  Water,  57 

Phillips  Brooks,  59 

John  Eliot  Bowen,  64 

Henry  George,  67 

Ilicet,  70 

To  Raphael,  76 

To  p.  v.,  82 

A  Norse  Child's  Requiem,  87 

In  the  Heart  of  the  Hills,  91 

An  Afterword,  96 

Seven  Wind  Songs,  102 

Andrew  Straton,  112 

The  Gravk-Trek,  127 


BY  THE  AURELIAN  WALL 

In  Memory  of  John  Keats 

By  the  Aurelian  Wall, 

Where  the  long  shadows  of  the  centuries  fall 

From  Caius  Cestius'  tomb, 

A  weary  mortal  seeking  rest  found  room 

For  quiet  burial, 

Leaving  among  his  friends 

A  book  of  lyrics. 

Such  untold  amends 

A  traveller  might  make 

In  a  strange  country,  bidden  to  partake 

Before  he  farther  wends; 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

Who  shyly  should  bestow 

The  foreign  reed-flute  they  had  seen  him  blow 

And  finger  cunningly, 

On  one  of  the  dark  children  standing  by, 

Then  lift  his  cloak  and  go. 

The  years  pass.     And  the  child 

Thoughtful  beyond  his  fellows,  grave  and  mild, 

Treasures  the  rough-made  toy, 

Until  one  day  he  blows  it  for  clear  joy, 

And  wakes  the  music  wild. 

His  fondness  makes  it  seem 

A  thing  first  fashioned  in  delirious  dream. 

Some  god  had  cut  and  tried. 

And  filled  with  yearning  passion,  and  cast  aside 

On  some  far  woodland  stream, — 


lO 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

After  long  years  to  be 

Found  by  the  stranger  and  brought  over  sea, 

A  marvel  and  delight 

To  ease  the  noon  and  pierce  the  dark  blue  night, 

For  children  such  as  he. 

He  learns  the  silver  strain 

Wherewith  the  ghostly  houses  of  gray  rain 

And  lonely  valleys  ring. 

When  the  untroubled  whitethroats  make  the  spring 

A  world  without  a  stain; 

Then  on  his  river  reed. 

With  strange  and  unsuspected  notes  that  plead 

Of  their  own  wild  accord 

For  utterances  no  bird's  throat  could  afford, 

Lifts  it  to  human  need. 


II 


By  tJie  Aiirelian  Wall 

His  comrades  leave  their  play, 

When  calling  and  compelling  far  away 

By  river-slope  and  hill, 

He  pipes  their  wayward  footsteps  where  he  will. 

All  the  long  lovely  day. 

Even  his  elders  come. 

"Surely  the  child  is  elvish,"  murmur  some, 

And  shake  the  knowing  head; 

"Give  us  the  good  old  simple  things  instead, 

Our  fathers  used  to  hum." 

Others  at  the  open  door 

Smile  when  they  hear  what  they  have  hearkened  for 

These  many  summers  now. 

Believing  they  should  live  to  learn  somehow 

Things  never  known  before. 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

But  he  can  only  tell 

How  the  flute's  whisper  lures  him  with  a  spell, 

Yet  always  just  eludes 

The  lost  perfection  over  which  he  broods; 

And  how  he  loves  it  well. 

Till  all  the  country-side, 

Familiar  with  his  piping  far  and  wide, 

Has  taken  for  its  own 

That  weird  enchantment  down  the  evening  blown,  — 

Its  glory  and  its  pride. 

And  so  his  splendid  name. 

Who  left  the  book  of  lyrics  and  small  fame 

Among  his  fellows  then, 

Spreads    through    the    world     like     autumn  —  who 

knows  when?  — 
Till  all  the  hillsides  flame. 


13 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Grand  Pr6  and  Margaree 

Hear  it  upbruited  from  the  unresting  sea; 

And  the  small  Gaspareau, 

Whose  yellow  leaves  repeat  it,  seems  to  know 

A  new  felicity. 

Even  the  shadows  tall, 

Walking  at  sundown  through  the  plain,  recall 

A  mound  the  grasses  keep. 

Where  once  a  mortal  came  and  found  long  sleep 

By  the  Aurelian  Wall. 


14 


THE  WHITE  GULL 
For  the  Centenary  of  the  Birth  of  Shelley 


Up  by  the  idling  reef-set  bell 

The  tide  comes  in; 

And  to  the  idle  heart  to-day 

The  wind  has  many  things  to  say; 

The  sea  has  many  a  tale  to  tell 

His  younger  kin. 


15 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

For  we  are  his,  bone  of  his  bone. 

Breath  of  his  breath; 

The  doom  tides  sway  us  at  their  will; 

The  sky  of  being  rounds  us  still; 

And  over  us  at  last  is  blown 

The  wind  of  death. 


II 

A  hundred  years  ago  to-day 
There  came  a  soul, 
A  pilgrim  of  the  perilous  light, 
Treading  the  spheral  paths  of  night, 
On  whom  the  word  and  vision  lay 
With  dread  control. 


i6 


The   White  Gull 

Now  the  pale  Summer  lingers  near, 

And  talks  to  me 

Of  all  her  wayward  journeyings, 

And  the  old,  sweet,  forgotten  things 

She  loved  and  lost  and  dreamed  of  here 

By  the  blue  sea. 

The  great  cloud-navies,  one  by  one. 
Bend  sails  and  fill 

From  ports  below  the  round  sea-verge; 
I  watch  them  gather  and  emerge, 
And  steer  for  havens  of  the  sun 
Beyond  the  hill. 


17 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

The  gray  sea-horses  troop  and  roam; 
The  shadows  fly 

Along  the  wind-floor  at  their  heels; 
And  where  the  golden  daylight  wheels, 
A  white  gull  searches  the  blue  dome 
With  keening  cry. 

And  something,  Shelley,  like  thy  fame 
Dares  the  wide  morn 
In  that  sea-rover's  glimmering  flight. 
As  if  the  Northland  and  the  night 
Should  hear  thy  splendid  valiant  name 
Put  scorn  to  scorn. 


The  White  Gull 


III 


Thou  heart  of  all  the  hearts  of  men, 
Tameless  and  free, 

And  vague  as  that  marsh-wandering  fire, 
Leading  the  world's  outworn  desire 
A  night  march  down  this  ghostly  fen 
From  sea  to  sea! 

Through  this  divided  camp  of  dream 
Thy  feet  have  passed, 
As  one  who  should  set  hand  to  rouse 
His  comrades  from  their  heavy  drowse; 
For  only  their  own  deeds  redeem 
God's  sons  at  last. 


19 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

But  the  dim  world  will  dream  and  sleep 

Beneath  thy  hand, 

As  poppies  in  the  windy  morn, 

Or  valleys  where  the  standing  corn 

Whispers  when  One  goes  forth  to  reap 

The  weary  land. 

O  captain  of  the  rebel  host, 
Lead  forth  and  far! 
Thy  toiling  troopers  of  the  night 
Press  on  the  unavailing  fight; 
The  sombre  field  is  not  yet  lost, 
With  thee  for  star. 


20 


The  White  Gull 

Thy  lips  have  set  the  hail  and  haste 
Of  clarions  free 

To  bugle  down  the  wintry  verge 
Of  time  forever,  where  the  surge 
Thunders  and  crumbles  on  a  waste 
And  open  sea. 

IV 

Did  the  cold  Noms  who  pattern   life 
With  haste  and  rest 

Take  thought  to  cheer  their  pilgrims  on 
Through  trackless  twilights  vast  and  wan, 
Across  the  failure  and  the  strife, 
From  quest  to  quest,  — 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Set  their  last  kiss  upon  thy  face, 

And  let  thee  go 

To  tell  the  haunted  whisperings 

Of  unimaginable  things, 

Which  plague  thy  fellows  with  a  trace 

They  cannot  know? 

So  they  might  fashion  and  send  forth 
Their  house  of  doom, 
Through  the  pale  splendor  of  the  night. 
In  vibrant,  hurled,   impetuous  flight, 
A  resonant  meteor  of  the  North 
From  gloom  to  gloom. 


The   White  Gull 


V 


I  think  thou  must  have  wandered  far 
With  Spring  for  guide, 
And  heard  the  shy-born  forest  flowers 
Talk  to  the  wind  among  the  showers. 
Through  sudden  doorways  left  ajar 
When  the  wind  sighed; 

Thou  must  have  heard  the  marching  sweep 

Of  blown  white  rain 

Go  volleying  up  the  icy  kills,  — 

And  watched  witli  Summer  when  the  hills 

Muttered  of  freedom  in  their  sleep 

And  slept  again. 


23 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

Surely  thou  wert  a  lonely  one, 
Gentle  and  wild; 

And  the  round  sun  delayed  for  thee 
In  the  red  moorlands  by  the  sea, 
When  Tyrian  Autumn  lured  thee  on, 
A  wistful  child, 

To  rove  the  tranquil,  vacant  year. 
From  dale  to  dale; 
And  the  great  Mother  took  thy  face 
Between  her  hands  for  one  long  gaze, 
And  bade  thee  follow  without  fear 
The  endless  trail. 


24 


The   White  Gull 

And  thy  clear  spirit,  half  forlorn, 
Seeking  its  own. 

Dwelt  with  the  nomad  tents  of  rain. 
Marched  with  the  gold-red  ranks  of  grain, 
Or  ranged  the  frontiers  of  the  morn, 
And  was  alone. 

VI 

One  brief  perturbed  and  glorious  day! 

How  couldst  thou  learn 

The  quiet  of  the  forest  sun, 

Where  the  dark,  whispering  rivers  run 

The  journey  that  hath  no  delay 

And  no  return? 


25 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

And  yet  within  thee  flamed  and  sang 

The  dauntless  heart, 

Knowing  all  passion  and  the  pain 

On  man's  imperious  disdain, 

Since  God's  great  part  in  thee  gave  pang 

To  earth's  frail  part. 

It  held  the  voices  of  the  hills 
Deep  in  its  core; 
The  wandering  shadows  of  the  sea 
Called  to  it, — would  not  let  it  be; 
The  harvest  of  those  barren  rills 
Was  in  its  store. 


26 


The  White  Gull 

Thine  was  a  love  that  strives  and  calls 

Outcast  from  home, 

Burning  to  free  the  soul  of  man 

With  some  new  life.     How  strange,  a  ban 

Should  set  thy  sleep  beneath  the  walls 

Of  changeless  Rome! 

VII 

More  soft,  I  deem,  from  spring  to  spring, 

Thy  sleep  would  be 

Where  this  far  western  headland  lies 

With  its  imperial  azure  skies, 

Under  thee  hearing  beat  and  swing 

The  eternal  sea. 


27 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

Where  all  the  livelong  brooding  day 

And  all  night  long, 

The  far  sea- journeying  wind  should  come 

Down  to  the  doorway  of  thy  home, 

To  lure  thee  ever  the  old  way 

With  the  old  song. 

But  the  dim  forest  would  so  house 
Thy  heart  so  dear, 
Even  the  low  surf  of  the  rain. 
Where  ghostly  centuries  complain. 
Might  beat  against  thy  door  and  rouse 
No  heartache  here. 


28 


The   White  Gull 

For  here  the  thrushes,  calm,  supreme, 

Forever  reign, 

Whose  gloriously  kingly  golden  throats 

Regather  their  forgotten  notes 

In  keys  where  lurk  no  ruin  of  dream. 

No  tinge  of  pain. 

And  here  the  ruthless  noisy  sea, 
With  the  tide's  will, 
The  strong  gray  wrestler,  should  in  vain 
Put  forth  his  hand  on  thee  again  — 
Lift  up  his  voice  and  call  to  thee. 
And  thou  be  still. 


29 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

For  thou  hast  overcome  at  last; 

And  fate  and  fear 

And  strife  and  rumor  now  no  more 

Vex  thee  by  any  wind-vexed  shore, 

Down  the  strewn  ways  thy  feet  have  passed 

Far,  far  from  here. 

VIII 

Up  by  the  idling,  idling  bell 
The  tide  comes  in; 
And  to  the  restless  heart  to-day 
The  wind  has  many  things  to  say; 
The  sea  has  many  a  tale  to  tell 
His  younger  kin. 


30 


The  White  Gull 

The  gray  sea-horses  troop  and  roam; 
The  shadows  fly 

Along  the  wind-floor  at  their  heels; 
And  where  the  golden  daylight  wheels, 
A  white  gull  searches  the  blue  dome 
With  keening  cry. 


31 


THE   COUNTRY  OF  HAR 

For  the  Centenary  of  Blake's  "  Songs  of  Innocence  " 

Once  a  hundred  years  ago 

There  was  a  light  in  London  town, 

For  an  angel  of  the  snow 

Walked  her  street  sides  up  and  down. 

As  a  visionary  boy 
He  put  forth  his  hand  to  smite 
Songs  of  innocence  and  joy 
From  the  crying  chords  of  night, 


32 


The  Country  of  Har 

Like  a  muttering  of  thunder 
Heard  beneath  the  polar  star; 
For  his  soul  was  all  a-wonder 
At  the  calling  vales  of  Har. 

He,  a  traveller  by  day 
And  a  pilgrim  of  the  sun, 
Took  his  uncompanioned  way 
Where  the  journey  is  not  done. 

Where  no  mortal  might  aspire 
His  clear  heart  was  set  to  climb, 
To  the  uplands  of  desire 
And  the  river  wells  of  time. 


33 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Home  he  wandered  to  the  valley 
Where  the  springs  of  morning  are, 
And  the  sea-bright  cohorts  rally 
On  the  twilit  plains  of  Har. 

There  he  found  the  Book  of  Thel 
In  the  lily-garth  of  bliss, 
Fashioned,  how  no  man  can  tell, 
As  a  white  windflower  is: 

Like  the  lulling  of  a  sigh 
Uttered  in  the  trembling  grass. 
When  a  shower  is  gone  by, 
And  the  sweeping  shadows  pass,  — 


34 


The  Country  of  Har 

Through  the  hyacinthine  weather, 
Wheel  them  down  without  a  jar,  — 
Heaving  all  the  dappled  heather 
In  the  streaming  vales  of  Har. 

There  was  manna  in  the  rain; 
And  above  the  rills,  a  voice: 
"Son  of  mine,  dost  thou  complain? 
I  will  make  thee  to  rejoice. 

"Thou  shalt  be  a  child  to  men, 
With  confusion  on  thy  speech; 
And  the  worlds  within  thy  ken 
Shall  not  lie  within  thy  reach. 


35 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

"But  the  rainbirds  shall  discover, 
And  the  daffodils  unbar, 
Quiet  waters  for  their  lover 
On  the  shining  plains  of  Har. 

"April  rain  and  iron  frost 
Shall  make  flowers  to  thy  hand; 
Every  field  thy  feet  have  crossed 
Shall  revive  from  death's  command. 

"Hunting  with  a  leash  of  wind 
Through  the  corners  of  the  earth, 
Take  the  hounds  of  Spring  to  find 
The  forgotten  trails  of  mirth; 


36 


The  Country  of  Har 

"For  the  lone  child-heart  is  dying 
Of  a  love  no  time  can  mar, 
Hearing  not  a  voice  replying 
From  the  gladder  vales  of  Har. 

"  Flame  thy  heart  forth !     Yet,  no  haste ; 
Have  not  I  prepared  for  thee 
The  king's  chambers  of  the  East 
And  the  wind  halls  of  the  sea? 

"Be  a  gospeller  of  things 
Nowhere  written  through  the  wild, 
With  that  gloaming  call  of  Spring's, 
When  old  secrets  haunt  the  child. 


37 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

"Let  the  bugler  of  my  going 
Wake  no  clarion  of  war; 
For  the  paper  reeds  are  blowing 
On  the  river  plains  of  Har." 

Centuries  of  soiled  renown 
To  the  roaring  dark  have  gone: 
There  is  woe  in  London  town, 
And  a  crying  for  the  dawn. 

April  frost  and  iron  rain 
Ripen  the  dead  fruit  of  lust, 
And  the  sons  of  God  remain 
The  dream  children  of  the  dust, 


38 


The  Country  of  Har 

For  their  heart  hath  in  derision, 
And  their  jeers  have  mocked  afar, 
The  delirium  of  vision 
From  the  holy  vales  of  Har. 

Once  in  Autumn  came  a  dream; 
The  white  Herald  of  the  North, 
Faring  West  to  ford  my  stream, 
Passed  my  lodge  and  bade  me  forth; 

Glad  I  rose  and  went  with  him. 
With  my  shoulder  in  his  hand; 
The  auroral  world  grew  dim. 
And  the  idle  harvest  land. 


39 


By  the  Aiirelian  Wall 

Then  I  saw  the  warder  lifting 
From  its  berg  the  Northern  bar, 
And  eternal  snows  were  drifting 
On  the  wind-bleak  plains  of  Har. 

"Listen  humbly,"  said  my  guide. 
"I  am  drear,  for  I  am  death," 
Whispered  Snow;    but  Wind  replied, 
"I  outlive  thee  by  a  breath, 

I  am  Time."    And  then  I  heard, 
Dearer  than  all  wells  of  dew, 
One  gray  golden-shafted  bird 
Hail  the  uplands;  so  I  knew 


40 


The  Country  of  Har 

Spring,  the  angel  of  our  sorrow, 
Tarrying  so  seeming  far, 
Should  return  with  some  long  morrow 
In  the  calling  vales  of  Har. 


41 


TO  RICHARD   LOVELACE 

Ah,  Lovelace,  what  desires  have  sway 
In  the  white  shadow  of  your  heart, 
Which  no  more  measures  day  by  day, 
Nor  sets  the  years  apart? 

How  many  seasons  for  your  sake 
Have  taught  men  over,  age  by  age, 
"Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage !  "  — 


4> 


To  Richard  Lovelace 

Since  that  first  April  when  you  fared 
Into  the  Gatehouse,  well  content, 
Caring  for  nothing  so  you  cared 
For  honor  and  for  Kent. 

How  many,  since  the  April  rain 
Beat  drear  and  blossomless  and  hoar 
Through  London,  when  you  left  Shoe  Lane, 
A-marching  to  no  war! 

Till  now,  with  April  on  the  sea, 
And  sunshine  in  the  woven  year. 
The  rain-winds  loose  from  reverie 
A  lyric  and  a  cheer. 


43 


A  SEAMARK 
A  Threnody  for  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Cold,  the  dull  cold!     What  ails  the  sun, 
And  takes  the  heart  out  of  the  day? 
What  makes  the  morning  look  so  mean, 
The  Common  so  forlorn  and  gray? 

The  wintry  city's  granite  heart 
Beats  on  in  iron  mockery. 
And  like  the  roaming  mountain  rains, 
I  hear  the  thresh  of  feet  go  by. 


44 


A  Seamark 

It  is  the  lonely  human  surf 
Surging  through  alleys  chill  with  grime, 
The  muttering  churning  ceaseless  floe 
Adrift  out  of  the  North  of  time. 

Fades,  it  all  fades!     I  only  see 
The  poster  with  its  reds  and  blues 
Bidding  the  heart  stand  still  to  take 
Its  desolating  stab  of  news. 

That  intimate  and  magic  name: 
"Dead  in  Samoa."  .   .  .     Cry  your  cries, 
O  city  of  the  golden  dome. 
Under  the  gray  Atlantic  skies! 


45 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

But  I  have  wander-biddings  now. 
Far  down  the  latitudes  of  sun, 
An  island  mountain  of  the  sea, 
Piercing  the  green  and  rosy  zone, 

Goes  up  into  the  wondrous  day. 
And  there  the  brown-limbed  island  men 
Are  bearing  up  for  burial, 
Within  the  sun's  departing  ken. 

The  master  of  the  roving  kind. 

And  there  where  time  will  set  no  mark 

For  his  irrevocable  rest, 

Under  the  spacious  melting  dark, 


46 


A  Seamark 

With  all  the  nomad  tented  stars 
About  him,  they  have  laid  him  down 
Above  the  crumbling  of  the  sea, 
Beyond  the  turmoil  of  renown. 

O  all  you  hearts  about  the  world 
In  whom  the  truant  gipsy  blood, 
Under  the  frost  of  this  pale  time, 
Sleeps  like  the  daring  sap  and  flood 

That  dream  of  April  and  reprieve ! 
You  whom  the  haunted  vision  drives, 
Incredulous  of  home  and  ease, 
Perfection's  lovers  all  your  lives! 


47 


By  the  Atirelian  Wall 

You  whom  the  wander-spirit  loves 
To  lead  by  some  forgotten  clue 
Forever  vanishing  beyond 
Horizon  brinks  forever  new; 

The  road,  unmarked,  ordained,  whereby 
Your  brothers  of  the  field  and  air 
Before  you,  faithful,  blind  and  glad, 
Emerged  from  chaos  pair  by  pair; 

The  road  whereby  you  too  must  come, 
In  the  unvexed  and  fabled  years 
Into  the  country  of  your  dream. 
With  all  your  knowledge  in  arrears! 


48 


A  Seamark 

You  who  can  never  quite  forget 
Your  glimpse  of  Beauty  as  she  passed, 
The  well-head  where  her  knee  was  pressed, 
The  dew  wherein  her  foot  was  cast; 

O  you  who  bid  the  paint  and  clay 
Be  glorious  when  you  are  dead, 
And  fit  the  plangent  words  in  rhyme 
Where  the  dark  secret  lurks  unsaid; 

You  brethren  of  the  light-heart  guild. 
The  mystic  fellowcraft  of  joy, 
Who  tarry  for  the  news  of  truth, 
And  listen  for  some  vast  ahoy 


49 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Blown  in  from  sea,  who  crowd  the  wharves 
With  eager  eyes  that  wait  the  ship 
Whose  foreign  tongue  may  fill  the  world 
With  wondrous  tales  from  lip  to  lip; 

Our  restless  loved  adventurer, 

On  secret  orders  come  to  him, 

Has  slipped  his  cable,  cleared  the  reef. 

And  melted  on  the  white  sea-rim. 

O  granite  hills,  go  down  in  blue! 
And  like  green  clouds  in  opal  calms, 
You  anchored  islands  of  the  main. 
Float  up  your  loom  of  feathery  palms! 


50 


A  Seamark 

For  deep  within  your  dales,  where  lies 
A  valiant  earthling  stark  and  dumb, 
This  savage  undisceming  heart 
Is  with  the  silent  chiefs  who  come 

To  mourn  their  kin  and  bear  him  gifts,  — 
Who  kiss  his  hand,  and  take  their  place, 
This  last  night  he  receives  his  friends, 
The  journey-wonder  on  his  face. 

He  "was  not  born  for  age."     Ah  no, 
For  everlasting  youth  is  his! 
Part  of  the  lyric  of  the  earth 
With  spring  and  leaf  and  blade  he  is. 


5x 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

'Twill  nevermore  be  April  now 
But  there  will  lurk  a  thought  of  him 
At  the  street  corners,  gay  with  flowers 
From  rainy  valleys  purple-dim. 

O  chiefs,  you  do  not  mourn  alone! 

In  that  stern  North  where  mystery  broods, 

Our  mother  grief  has  many  sons 

Bred  in  those  iron  solitudes. 

It  does  not  help  them,  to  have  laid 
Their  coil  of  lightning  under  seas; 
They  are  as  impotent  as  you 
To  mend  the  loosened  wrists  and  knees. 


52 


A  Seamark 

And  yet  how  many  a  harvest  night, 
When  the  great  luminous  meteors  flare 
Along  the  trenches  of  the  dusk, 
The  men  who  dwell  beneath  the  Bear, 

Seeing  those  vagrants  of  the  sky 
Float  through  the  deep  beyond  their  hark. 
Like  Arabs  through  the  wastes  of  air,  — 
A  flash,  a  dream,  from  dark  to  dark,  — 

Must  feel  the  solemn  large  surmise: 
By  a  dim  vast  and  perilous  way 
We  sweep  through  undetermined  time, 
Illumining  this  quench  of  clay. 


53 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

A  moment  staunched,  then  forth  again. 
Ah,  not  alone  you  climb  the  steep 
To  set  your  loving  burden  down 
Against  the  mighty  knees  of  sleep. 

With  you  we  hold  the  sombre  faith 
Where  creeds  are  sown  like  rain  at  sea; 
And  leave  the  loveliest  child  of  earth 
To  slumber  where  he  longed  to  be. 

His  fathers  lit  the  dangerous  coast 
To  steer  the  daring  merchant  home; 
His  courage  lights  the  dark'ning  port 
Where  every  sea-worn  sail  must  come. 


54 


A  Seamark 

And  since  he  was  the  type  of  all 
That  strain  in  us  which  still  must  fare, 
The  fleeting  migrant  of  a  day, 
Heart-high,  outbound  for  otherwhere, 

Now  therefore,  where  the  passing  ships 
Hang  on  the  edges  of  the  noon. 
And  Northern  liners  trail  their  smoke 
Across  the  rising  yellow  moon, 

Bound  for  his  home,  with  shuddering  screw 
That  beats  its  strength  out  into  speed. 
Until  the  pacing  watch  descries 
On  the  sea-line  a  scarlet  seed 


55 


By  the  Aurelian    Wall 

Smolder  and  kindle  and  set  fire 
To  the  dark  selvedge  of  the  night, 
The  deep  blue  tapestry  of  stars, 
Then  sheet  the  dome  in  pearly  light, 

There  in  perpetual  tides  of  day. 
Where  men  may  praise  him  and  deplore, 
The  place  of  his  lone  grave  shall  be 
A  seamark  set  forevermore. 

High  on  a  peak  adrift  with  mist, 
And  round  whose  bases,  far  beneath 
The  snow-white  wheeling  tropic  birds. 
The  emerald  dragon  breaks  his  teeth. 


56 


THE  WORD   OF  THE  WATER 

For  the  Unveiling  of  the  Stevenson  Fountain  in  San  Francisco 

God  made  me  simple  from  the  first, 
And  good  to  quench  your  body's  thirst. 
Think  you  he  has  no  ministers 
To  glad  that  wayworn  soul  of  yours? 

Here  by  the  thronging  Golden  Gate 
For  thousands  and  for  you  I  wait, 
Seeing  adventurous  sails  unfurled 
For  the  four  corners  of  the  world. 


57 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Here  passed  one  day,  nor  came  again, 
A  prince  among  the  tribes  of  men. 
(For  man,  like  me,   is  from  his  birth 
A  vagabond  upon  this  earth.) 

Be  thankful,  friend,  as  you  pass  on, 
And  pray  for  Louis  Stevenson, 
That  by  whatever  trail  he  fare 
He  be  refreshed  in  God's  great  care! 


S8 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS 

Tms  is  the  white  winter  day  of  his  burial. 
Time  has  set  here  of  his  toiling  the  span 
Earthward,    naught  else.     Cheer  him  out  through 

the  portal, 
Heart-beat  of  Boston,  our  utmost  in  man! 

Out  in  the  broad  open  sun  be  his  funeral, 
Under  the  blue  for  the  city  to  see. 
Over  the  grieving  crowd  mourn  for  him,  bugle! 
Churches  are  narrow  to  hold  such  as  he. 


59 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

Here  on  the  steps  of  the  temple  he  builded, 
Rest  him  a  space,  while  the  great  city  square 
Throngs     with     his     people,     his     thousands,     his 

mourners ; 
Tears  for  his  peace  and  a  multitude's  prayer. 

How  comes  it,  think  you,  the  town's  traffic  pauses 
Thus  at  high  noon?     Can  we  wealthmongers  grieve? 
Here  in  the  sad  surprise  greatest  America 
Shows  for  a  moment  her  heart  on  her  sleeve. 

She  who  is  said  to  give  life-blood  for  silver. 
Proves,  without  show,  she  sets  higher  than  gold 
Just    the     straight    manhood,    clean,    gentle,    and 

fearless. 
Made  in  God's  likeness  once  more  as  of  old. 


60 


Phillips  Brooks 

Once  more  the  crude  makeshift  law  overproven,  — 
Soul  pent  from  sin  will  seek  God  in  despite; 
Once  more  the  gladder  way  wins  revelation,  — 
Soul  bent  on  God  forgets  evil  outright. 

Once  more  the  seraph  voice  sounding  to  beauty, 
Once  more  the  trumpet  tongue  bidding,  no  fear! 
Once  more  the  new,  purer  plan's  vindication,  — 
Man  be  God's  forecast,  and  Heaven  is  here. 

Bear  him  to  burial.  Harvard,  thy  hero! 
Not  on  thy  shoulders  alone  is  he  borne; 
They  of  the  burden  go  forth  on  the  morrow. 
Heavy  and  slow,  through  a  world  left  forlorn. 


6i 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

No  grief  for  him,  for  ourselves  the  lamenting; 
What  giant  arm  to  stay  courage  up  now? 
March  we  a  thousand  file  up  to  the  City, 
Fellow  with  fellow  linked,  he  taught  us  how! 

Never  dismayed  at  the  dark  nor  the  distance! 
Never  deployed  for  the  steep  nor  the  storm  1 
Hear    him    say,    "Hold    fast,    the    night  wears    to 

morning ! 
This  God  of  promise  is  God  to  perform." 

Up  with  thee,  heart  of  fear,  high  as  the  heaven! 
Thou  hast  known  one  wore  this  life  without  stain. 
What    if    for    thee    and     me, — street.    Yard,    or 

Common,  — 
Such  a  white  captain  appear  not  again! 


62 


Phillips  Brooks 

Fight  on  alone!     Let  the  faltering  spirit 
Within  thee  recall  how  he  carried  a  host, 
Rearward  and  van,  as  Wind  shoulders  a  dust-heap; 
One  Way  till  strife  be  done,  strive  each  his  most. 

Take  the  last  vesture  of  beauty  upon  thee, 
Thou  doubting  world;  and  with  not  an  eye  dim 
Say,  when  they  ask  if  thou  knowest  a  Saviour, 
"Brooks  was  His  brother,  and  we  have  known  him.". 


63 


JOHN   ELIOT  BOWEN 

Here  at  the  desk  where  once  you  sat, 
Who  wander  now  with  poets  dead 
And  summers  gone,  afield  so  far, 
There  sits  a  stranger  in  your  stead. 

Here  day  by  day  men  come  who  knew 
Your  steadfast  ways  and  loved  you  well; 
And  every  comer  with  regret 
Has  some  new  thing  of  praise  to  tell. 


64 


John  Eliot  Bowen 

The  poet  old,  whose  lyric  heart 
Is  fresh  as  dew  and  bright  as  flame, 
Longs  for  "his  boy,"  and  finds  you  not, 
And  goes  the  wistful  way  he  came. 

Here  where  you  toiled  without  reproach, 
Builded  and  loved  and  dreamed  and  planned. 
At  every  door,  on  every  page, 
Lurks  the  tradition  of  your  hand. 

And  if  to  you,  like  reverie. 
There  comes  a  thought  of  how  they  fare 
Whose  footsteps  go  the  round  you  went 
Of  noisy  street  and  narrow  stair, 


65 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Know  they  have  learned  a  new  desire, 
Which  puts  unfaith  and  faltering  by; 
And  triumph  fills  their  dream  because 
One  life  was  leal,  one  hope  was  high. 


66 


HENRY    GEORGE 

We  are  only  common  people, 

And  he  was  a  man  like  us. 

But  he  loved  his  fellows  before  himself; 

And  he  died  for  me  and  you, 

To  redeem  the  world  anew 

From  cruelty  and  greed  — 

For  love  the  only  creed, 

For  honor  the  only  law. 


67 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

There  once  was  a  man  of  the  people, 

A  man  like  you  and  me, 

Who  worked  for  his  daily  bread. 

And  he  loved  his  fellows  before  himself. 

But  he  died  at  the  hands  of  the  throng 

To  redeem  the  world  from  wrong, 

And  we  call  him  the  Son  of  God, 

Because  of  the  love  he  had. 

And  there  was  a  man  of  the  people, 

Who  sat  in  the  people's  chair, 

And  bade  the  slaves  go  free; 

For  he  loved  his  fellows  before  himself. 

They  took  his  life;  but  his  word 

They  could  not  take.     It  was  heard 

Over  the  beautiful  earth, 

A  thunder  and  whisper  of  love. 


68 


Henry  George 

And  there  is  no  other  way, 

Since  man  of  woman  was  born, 

Than  the  way  of  the  rebels  and  saints, 

With  loving  and  labor  vast, 

To  redeem  the  world  at  last 

From  cruelty  and  greed; 

For  love  is  the  only  creed, 

And  honor  the  only  law. 


69 


ILICET 

Friends,  let  him  rest 
In  midnight  now. 
Desire  has  gone 
On  the  weary  quest 
With  aching  brow; 
Until  the  dawn, 
Friends,  let  him  rest. 

70 


Ilicet 

With  a  boy's  desire 

He  set  the  cup 

To  his  lips  to  drink; 

The  ruddy  fire 

Was  lifted  up 

At  day's  cool  brink, 

With  a  boy's  desire. 

The  heart  of  a  boy ! 
He  tasted  life, 
And  the  bitter  sting 
Of  sorrow  in  joy, 
Failure  in  strife. 
Was  pain  to  wring 
The  heart  of  a  boy. 


71 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

In  a  childish  whim, 
He  spilled  the  wine 
Upon  the  floor,  — 
In  beads  on  the  brim 
Was  a  glitter  of  brine,  — 
Then,  out  at  the  door 
In  a  childish  whim! 

Out  of  the  storm, 
In  the  flickering  light, 
A  broken  glass 
Lies  on  our  warm 
Hearthstone  to-night, 
While  shadows  pass 
Out  of  the  storm. 


72 


Ilicet 

Friends,  let  him  rest 
In  midnight  now. 
Desire  has  gone 
On  the  weary  quest 
With  aching  brow: 
Until  the  dawn, 
Friends,  let  him  rest. 

In  sorrow  and  shame 
For  the  craven  heart, 
In  manhood's  breast 
With  valor's  name, 
Let  him  depart 
Unto  his  rest 
In  sorrow  and  shame. 


73 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

In  after  years 
God,  who  bestows 
Or  withholds  the  valor, 
Shall  wipe  all  tears  — 
Haply,  who  knows?  — 
From  his  face's  pallor 
In  after  years. 

He  could  not  learn 

To  fight  with  his  peers 

In  sturdier  fashion; 

Let  him  return 

Through  the  night  with  tears, 

Stung  with  the  passion 

He  could  not  learn. 


74 


Ilicet 

All-bountiful,  calm, 

Where  the  great  stars  burn. 

And  the  spring  bloom  smothers 

The  night  with  balm, 

Let  him  return 

To  the  silent  Mother's 

All-bountiful  calm. 

Friends,  let  him  rest 
In  midnight  now. 
Desire  has  gone 
On  the  weary  quest 
With  aching  brow: 
Until  the  dawn, 
Friends,  let  him  rest. 


75 


TO   RAPHAEL 

Master  of  adored  Madonnas, 
What  is  this  men  say  of* thee? 
Thou  wert  something  less  than  honor's 
Most  exact  epitome? 

Yes,   they  say  you  loved  too  many, 
Loved  too  often,  loved  too  well. 
Just  as  if  there  could  be  any 
Over-loving,  Raphael! 


76 


To  Raphael 

Was  it,  "Sir,  and  how  came  this  tress. 
Long  and  raven?     Mine  are  gold!" 
You  should  have  made  Art  your  mistress, 
Lived  an  anchorite  and  old! 

Ah,  no  doubt  these  dear  good  people 
On  familiar  terms  with  God, 
Could  devise  a  parish  steeple 
Built  to  heaven  without  a  hod. 

You  and  Solomon  and  Caesar 
Were  three  fellows  of  a  kind; 
Not  a  woman  but  to  please  her 
You  would  leave  your  soul  behind. 


77 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Those  dead  women  with  their  beauty, 
How  they  must  have  loved  you  well,  - 
Dared  to  make  desire  a  duty. 
With  the  heretics  in  hell! 

And  your  brother,  that  Catullus, 
What  a  plight  he  must  be  in, 
If  those  silver  songs  that  lull  us 
Were  result  of  mortal  sin! 

If  the  artist  were  ungodly, 
Prurient  of  mind  and  heart, 
I  must  think  they  argue  oddly 
Who  make  shrines  before  his  art. 


78 


To  RapJiael 

Not  the  meanest  aspiration 
Ever  sprung  from  soul  depraved 
Into  art,  but  art's  elation 
Was  the  sanctity  it  craved. 

Oh,  no  doubt  you  had  your  troubles, 
Devils  blue  that  blanched  your  hope. 
I  dare  say  your  fancy's  bubbles. 
Breaking,  had  a  taste  of  soap. 

Did  your  lady-loves  undo  you 
In  some  mediaeval  way? 
Ah,  my  Raphael,  here's  to  you! 
It  is  much  the  same  to-day. 


79 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Did  their  tantalizing  laughter 
Make  your  wisdom  overbold? 
Were  you  fire  at  first;  and  after, 
Did  their  kisses  leave  you  cold? 

Did  some  fine  perfidious  Nancy, 
With  the  roses  in  her  hair, 
Play  the  marsh-fire  to  your  fancy 
Over  quagmires  of  despair? 

My  poor  boy,  were  there  more  flowers 
In  your  Florence  and  your  Rome, 
Wasting  through  the  gorgeous  hours. 
Than  your  two  hands  could  bring  home? 


80 


To  Raphael 

Be  content ;  you  have  your  glory  ; 
Life  was  full  and  sleep  is  well. 
What  the  end  is  of  the  story, 
There's  no  paragraph  to  tell. 


8i 


TO  P.  V. 

So  they  would  raise  your  monument, 

Old  vagabond  of  lovely  earth? 

Another  answer  without  words 

To  Humdrum's,  "What  are  poets  worth?" 

Not  much  we  gave  you  when  alive, 
Whom  now  we  lavishly  deplore,  — 
A  little  bread,  a  little  wine, 
A  little  caporal  —  no  more. 


82 


To  P.  V. 

Here  in  our  lodging  of  a  day 
You  roistered  till  we  were  appalled; 
Departing,  in  your  room  we  found 
A  string  of  golden  verses  scrawled. 

The  princely  manor-house  of  art, 
A  vagrant  artist  entertains; 
And  when  he  gets  him  to  the  road, 
Behold,  a  princely  gift  remains. 

Abashed,  we  set  your  name  above 
The  purse-full  patrons  of  our  board; 
Remind  newcomers  with  a  nudge, 
"Verlaine  took  once  what  we  afford!" 


83 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

The  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg, 
Spreading  beneath  the  brilliant  sun, 
Shall  be  your  haunt  of  leisure  now 
When  all  your  wander  years  are  done. 

There  you  shall  stand,  the  very  mien 
You  wore  in  Paris  streets  of  old, 
And  ponder  what  a  thing  is  life. 
Or  watch  the  chestnut  blooms  unfold. 

There  you  will  find,  I  dare  surmise, 
Another  tolerance  than  ours, 
The  loving-kindness  of  the  grass, 
The  tender  patience  of  the  flowers. 


84 


To  p.  V. 

And  every  year,  when  May  returns 
To  bring  the  golden  age  again, 
And  hope  comes  back  with  poetry 
In  your  loved  land  across  the  Seine, 

Some  youth  will  come  with  foreign  speech, 
Bearing  his  dream  from  over  sea, 
A  lover  of  your  flawless  craft, 
Apprenticed  to  your  poverty. 

He  will  be  mute  before  you  there, 
And  mark  those  lineaments  which  tell 
What  stormy  unrelenting  fate 
Had  one  who  served  his  art  so  well. 


85 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

And  there  be  yours,  the  livelong  day, 
Beyond  the  mordant  reach  of  pain. 
The  little  gospel  of  the  leaves, 
The  Nu7ic  dimiitis  of  the  rain ! 


86 


A  NORSE  CHILD'S    REQUIEM 

Sleep  soundly,  little  Thorlak, 
Where  all  thy  peers  have  lain, 
A  hero  of  no  battle, 
A  saint  without  a  stain! 

Thy  courage  be  upon  thee, 
Unblemished  by  regret, 
For  that  adventure  whither 
Thy  tiny  march  was  set. 


87 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

The  sunshine  be  above  thee, 
With  birds  and  winds  and  trees. 
Thy  way-fellows  inherit 
No  better  things  than  these. 

And  silence  be  about  thee, 
Turned  back  from  this  our  war 
To  front  alone  the  valley 
Of  night  without  a  star. 

The  soul  of  love  and  valor. 
Indifferent  to  fame, 
Be  with  thee,  heart  of  vikings. 
Beyond  the  breath  of  blame. 


88 


A  Norse  Child's  Requiem 

Thy  moiety  of  manhood 
Unspent  and  fair,  go  down, 
And,  unabashed,  encounter 
Thy  brothers  of  renown. 

So  modest  in  thy  freehold 
And  tenure  of  the  earth. 
Thy  needs,  for  all  our  meddling, 
Are  few  and  little  worth. 

Content  thee,  not  with  pity; 
Be  solaced,  not  with  tears; 
But  when  the  whitethroats  waken 
Through  the  revolving  years, 


89 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

Hereafter  be  that  peerless 
And  dirging  cadence,  child, 
Thy  threnody  unsullied. 
Melodious,  and  wild. 

Then  winter  be  thy  housing. 
Thy  lullaby  the  rain, 
Thou  hero  of  no  battle, 
Thou  saint  without  a  stain. 


90 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HILLS 

In  the  warm  blue  heart  of  the  hills 
My  beautiful,  beautiful  one 
Sleeps  where  he  laid  him  down 
Before  the  journey  was  done. 

All  the  long  summer  day 
The  ghosts  of  noon  draw  nigh, 
And  the  tremulous  aspens  hear 
The  footing  of  winds  go  by. 


91 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Down  to  the  gates  of  the  sea, 
Out  of  the  gates  of  the  west, 
Journeys  the  whispering  river 
Before  the  place  of  his  rest. 

The  road  he  loved  to  follow 
When  June  came  by  his  door, 
Out  through  the  dim  blue  haze 
Leads,  but  allures  no  more. 

The  trailing  shadows  of  clouds 
Steal  from  the  slopes  and  are  gone; 
The  myriad  life  in  the  grass 
Stirs,  but  he  slumbers  on; 


92 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Hills 

The  inland  wandering  tern 
Skreel  as  they  forage  and  fly; 
His  loons  on  the  lonely  reach 
Utter  their  querulous  cry; 

Over  the  floating  lilies 
A  dragon-fly  tacks  and  steers; 
Far  in  the  depth  of  the  blue 
A  martin  settles  and  veers; 

To  every  roadside  thistle 
A  gold-bro\vn  butterfly  clings; 
But  he  no  more  companions 
All  the  dear  vagrant  things. 


93 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

The  strong  red  journeying  sun, 
The  pale  and  wandering  rain, 
Will  roam  on  the  hills  forever 
And  find  him  never  again. 

Then  twilight  falls  with  the  touch 
Of  a  hand  that  soothes  and  stills, 
And  a  swamp-robin  sings  into  light 
The  lone  white  star  of  the  hills. 

Alone  in  the  dusk  he  sings, 
And  a  burden  of  sorrow  and  wrong 
Is  lifted  up  from  the  earth 
And  carried  away  in  his  song. 


94 


In  the  Heart  of  the  Hills 

Alone  in  the  dusk  he  sings, 
And  the  joy  of  another  day 
Is  folded  in  peace  and  borne 
On  the  drift  of  years  away. 

But  there  in  the  heart  of  the  hills 
My  beautiful  weary  one 
Sleeps  where  he  laid  him  down; 
And  the  large  sweet  night  is  begun. 


95 


AN   AFTERWORD 
To  G.  B.  R. 

Brother,  the  world  above  you 
Is  very  fair  to-day, 
And  all  things  seem  to  love  you 
The  old  accustomed  way. 

Here  in  the  heavenly  weather 
In  June's  white  arms  you  sleep, 
Where  once  on  the  hills  together 
Your  haunts  you  used  to  keep. 


96 


An  Afterword 

The  idling  sun  that  lazes 
Along  the  open  field 
And  gossips  to  the  daisies 
Of  secrets  unrevealed; 

The  wind  that  stirs  the  grasses 
A  moment,  and  then  stills 
Their  trouble  as  he  passes 
Up  to  the  darkling  hills, — 

And  to  the  breezy  clover 
Has  many  things  to  say 
Of  that  unwearied  rover 
Who  once  went  by  this  way; 


97 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

The  miles  of  elm-treed  meadows; 
The  clouds  that  voyage  on, 
Streeling  their  noiseless  shadows 
From  countries  of  the  sun; 

The  tranquil  river  reaches 
And  the  pale  stars  of  dawn; 
The  thrushes  in  their  beeches 
For  reverie  withdrawn; 

With  all  your  forest  fellows 
In  whom  the  blind  heart  calls, 
For  whom  the  green  leaf  yellows, 
On  whom  the  red  leaf  falls; 


98 


An  Afterword 

The  dumb  and  tiny  creatures 
Of  flower  and  blade  and  sod, 
That  dimly  wear  the  features 
And  attributes  of  God; 

The  airy  migrant  comers 
On  gauzy  wings  of  fire, 
Those  wanderers  and  roamers 
Of  indefinite  desire; 

The  rainbirds  and  all  dwellers 
In  solitude  and  peace, 
Those  lingerers  and  foretellers 
Of  infinite  release; 


99 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Yea,  all  the  dear  things  living 
That  rove  or  bask  or  swim, 
Remembering  and  misgiving, 
Have  felt  the  day  grow  dim. 

Even  the  glad  things  growing, 
Blossom  and  fruit  and  stem. 
Are  poorer  for  your  going 
Because  you  were  of  them. 

Yet  since  you  loved  to  cherish 
Their  pleading  beauty  here. 
Your  heart  shall  not  quite  perish 
In  all  the  golden  year; 


ICO 


An  Afterword 

But  God's  great  dream  above  them 
Must  be  a  tinge  less  pale, 
Because  you  lived  to  love  them 
And  make  their  joy  prevail. 


lOI 


SEVEN  WIND  SONGS 

Now  these  are  the  seven  wind  songs 
For  Andrew  Straton^s  death, 
Blown  through  the  reeds  of  the  river, 
A  sigh  of  the  world's  last  breath, 

Where  the  flickering  red  auroras 
Out  on  the  dark  sweet  hills 
Follow  all  night  through  the  forest 
The  cry  of  the  whip-poor-wills. 

zoa 


Seven   Wind  Songs 

For  the  meanings  of  life  are  many. 
But  the  purpose  of  love  is  one, 
Journeying,  tarrying,  lonely 
As  the  sea  wind  or  the  sun. 


Wind  of  the  Northern  land, 
Wind  of  the  sea, 
No  more  his  dearest  hand 
Comes  back  to  me. 

Wind  of  the  Northern  gloom, 
Wind  of  the  sea, 
Wandering  waifs  of  doom 
Feckless  are  we. 


103 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Wind  of  the  Northern  land, 
Wind  of  the  sea, 
I  cannot  understand 
How  these  things  be. 

II 

Wind  of  the  low  red  morn 
At  the  world's  end. 
Over  the  standing  corn 
Whisper  and  bend. 

Then  through  the  low  red  morn 
At  the  world's  end, 
Far  out  from  sorrow's  bourne, 
Down  glory's  trend. 


104 


Seven  Wind  Songs 

Tell  the  last  years  forlorn 
At  the  world's  end, 
Of  my  one  peerless  born 
Comrade  and  friend. 

Ill 

Wind  of  the  April  stars, 
Wind  of  the  dawn, 
Whether  God  nears  or  fars, 
He  lived  and  shone. 

Wind  of  the  April  night. 
Wind  of  the  dawn, 
No  more  my  heart's  delight 
Bugles  me  on. 


105 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Wind  of  the  April  rain, 
Wind  of  the  dawn, 
Lull  the  old  world  from  pain 
Till  pain  be  gone. 

IV 

Wind  of  the  summer  noon, 
Wind  of  the  hills, 
Gently  the  hand  of  June 
Stays  thee  and  stills. 

Far  off,  untouched  by  tears, 
Raptures  or  ills, 
Sleeps  he  a  thousand  years 
Out  on  the  hills. 


1 06 


Seven  Wind  Songs 

Wind  of  the  summer  noon, 
Wind  of  the  hills. 
Is  the  land  fair  and  boon 
Whither  he  wills? 


Wind  of  the  gulfs  of  night. 
Wind  of  the  sea, 
Where  the  pale  streamers  light 
My  world  for  me,  — 

Breath  of  the  wintry  Norns, 
Frost-touch  or  sleep,  — 
He  whom  my  spirit  mourns 
Deep  beyond  deep 


107 


By  the  Aurelian   Wall 

To  the  last  void  and  dim 
Where  ages  stream  — 
Is  there  no  room  for  him 
In  all  this  dream? 

VI 

Wind  of  the  outer  waste, 
Threne  of  the  outer  world, 
Leash  of  the  stars  unlaced. 
Morning  unfurled. 

Somewhere  at  God's  great  need, 
I  know  not  how, 
With  the  old  strength  and  speed 
He  is  come  now; 


1 08 


Seven   Wind  Songs 

Therefore  my  soul  is  glad 
With  the  old  pride, 
Tho'  this  small  life  is  sad 
Here  in  my  side. 

VII 

Wind  of  the  driven  snow, 
Wind  of  the  sea, 
On  a  long  trail  and  slow 
Farers  are  we. 

Wind  of  the  Northern  gloom, 
Wind  of  the  sea. 
Shall  I  one  day  resume 
His  love  for  me? 


109 


By  the  Atirelian  Wall 

Wind  of  the  driven  snow, 
Wind  of  the  sea, 
Then  shall  thy  vagrant  know 
How  these  things  be. 

These  are  the  seven  wind  songs 
For  Andrew  Siraton's  rest, 
From  the  hills  of  the  Scarlet  Hunter 
And  the  trail  of  the  endless  quest. 

The  wells  of  the  sunrise  harken, 
They  wait  for  a  year  and  a  day : 
Only  the  calm  sure  thrushes 
Fluting  the  world  away  ! 


IIO 


Seven  Wind  Songs 

For  the  husk  of  life  is  sorrow ; 
But  the  kernels  of  joy  remain^ 
Teeming  and  blind  and  eternal 
As  the  hill  wind  or  the  rain. 


in 


ANDREW  STRATON 

Andrew  Straton  was  my  friend, 
With  his  Saxon  eyes  and  hair, 
And  his  loyal  viking  spirit, 
Like  an  islesman  of  the  North 
With  his  earldom  on  the  sea. 

At  his  birth  the  mighty  Mother 
Made  of  him  a  fondling  one, 
Hushed  from  pain  within  her  arms, 
With  her  seal  upon  his  lips; 


Andrew  St  rat  on 

And  from  that  day  he  was  numbered 
With  the  sons  of  consolation, 
Peace  and  cheer  were  in  his  hands, 
And  her  secret  in  his  will. 

Now  the  night  has  Andrew  Straton 
Housed  from  wind  and  storm  forever 
In  a  chamber  of  the  gloom 
Where  no  window  fronts  the  morning, 
Lulled  to  rest  at  last  from  roving 
To  the  music  of  the  rain. 

And  his  sleep  is  in  the  far-off 
Alien  villages  of  the  dusk, 
Where  there  is  no  voice  of  welcome 
To  the  country  of  the  strangers, 
Save  the  murmur  of  the  pines. 

"3 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

And  the  fitful  winds  all  day 

Through  the  grass  with  restless  footfalls 

Haunt  about  his  narrow  door, 

Muttering  their  vast  unknown 

Border  balladry  of  time, 

To  the  hoarse  rote  of  the  sea. 

There  he  reassumes  repose. 
He  who  never  learned  unrest 
Here  amid  our  fury  of  toil, 
Undisturbed  though  all  about  him 
To  the  cohorts  of  the  night 
Sound  the  bugles  of  the  spring; 
And  his  slumber  is  not  broken 
When  along  the  granite  hills 
Flare  the  torches  of  the  dawn. 


114 


Andrew  Straton 

More  to  me  than  kith  or  kin 
Was  the  silence  of  his  speech; 
And  the  quiet  of  his  eyes, 
Gathered  from  the  lonely  sweep 
Of  the  hyacinthine  hills, 
Better  to  the  failing  spirit 
Than  a  river  land  in  June: 
And  to  look  for  him  at  evening 
Was  more  joy  than  many  friends. 

As  the  woodland  brooks  at  noon 
Were  his  brown  and  gentle  hands, 
And  his  face  as  the  hill  country 
Touched  with  the  red  autumn  sun 


"5 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Frank  and  patient  and  untroubled 
Save  by  the  old  trace  of  doom 
In  the  story  of  the  world. 
So  the  years  went  brightening  by. 

Now  a  lyric  wind  and  weather 
Breaks  the  leaguer  of  the  frost, 
And  the  shining  rough  month  March 
Crumbles  into  sun  and  rain; 
But  the  glad  and  murmurous  year 
Wheels  above  his  rest  and  wakens 
Not  a  dream  for  Andrew  Straton. 

Now  the  uplands  hold  an  echo 
From  the  meadow  lands  at  morn; 
And  the  marshes  hear  the  rivers 
Rouse  their  giant  heart  once  more,  — 

xi6 


Andrew  Straton 

Hear  the  crunching  floe  start  seaward 

From  a  thousand  valley  floors; 

While  far  on  amid  the  hills 

Under  stars  in  the  clear  night, 

The  replying,  the  replying. 

Of  the  ice-cold  rivulets 

Plashing  down  the  solemn  gorges 

In  their  arrowy  blue  speed, 

Fills  and  frets  the  crisp  blue  twilight 

With  innumerable  sound,  — 

With  the  whisper  of  the  spring. 

But  the  melting  fields  are  empty. 
Something  ails  the  bursting  year. 


117 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Ah,  now  helpless,  O  my  rivers, 

Are  your  lifted  voices  now! 

Where  is  all  the  sweet  compassion 

Once  your  murmur  held  for  me? 

Cradled  in  your  dells,  I  listened 

To  your  crooning,  learned  your  language, 

Born  your  brother  and  your  kin. 

When  I  had  the  morn  for  revel, 

You  made  music  at  my  door; 

Now  the  days  go  darkling  on. 

And  I  cannot  guess  your  words. 

Shall  young  joy  have  troops  of  neighbors. 

While  this  grief  must  house  alone? 


ii8 


Andrew  Straton 

0  my  brothers  of  the  hills, 

Who  abide  through  stress  and  change, 
On  the  borders  of  our  sorrow, 
With  no  part  in  human  tears, 
Lift  me  up  your  voice  again 
And  put  by  this  grievous  thing! 

Ah,  my  rivers,  Andrew  Straton 
Leaves  me  here  a  vacant  world  I 

1  must  hear  the  roar  of  cities 
And  the  jargon  of  the  schools, 
With  no  word  of  that  one  spirit 
Who  was  steadfast  as  the  sun 


119 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

And  kept  silence  with  the  stars. 
I  must  sit  and  hear  the  babble 
Of  the  worldling  and  the  fool, 
Prating  know-alls  and  reformers 
Busy  to  improve  on  man, 
With  their  chatter  about  God; 
Nowhere,  nowhere  the  blue  eyes, 
With  their  swift  and  grave  regard, 
Falling  on  me  with  God's  look. 

I  have  seen  and  known  and  loved 
One  who  was  too  sure  for  sorrow. 
Too  serenely  wise  for  haste, 
Too  compassionate  for  scorn. 
Fearless  man  and  faultless  comrade. 
One  great  heart  whose  beat  was  love. 


1 20 


Andrew  Straton 

In  a  thousand  thousand  hollows 
Of  the  hills  to-day  there  twinkle 
Icy-blue  handbreadths  of  April, 
Where  the  sinking  snows  decay 
In  the  everlasting  sun; 
And  a  thousand  tiny  creatures 
Stretch  their  heart  to  fill  the  world. 

Now  along  the  wondrous  trail 

Andrew  Straton  loved  to  follow 

Day  by  day  and  year  on  year, 

The  awaited  sure  return 

Of  all  sleeping  forest  things 

Is  reheralded  abroad, 

Till  the  places  of  their  journey,  — 


X2I 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Wells  the  frost  no  longer  hushes, 
Ways  no  drift  can  bury  now, 
Wood  and  stream  and  road  and  hillside, 
Hail  their  coming  as  of  old. 

But  my  beautiful  lost  comrade 
Of  the  golden  heart,  whose  life 
Rang  through  April  like  a  voice 
Through  some  Norland  saga,  crying 
Skoal  to  death,  comes  not  again; 
Time  shall  not  revive  that  presence 
More  desired  than  all  the  flowers, 
Longer  wished  for  than  the  birds. 

April  comes,  but  April's  lover 
Is  departed  and  not  here. 


123 


Andrew  Straton 

Sojourning  beyond  the  frost, 
He  delays;  and  now  no  more,  — 
Though  the  goldenwings  are  come 
With  their  resonant  tattoo, 
And  along  the  barrier  pines 
Morning  reddens  on  the  hills 
Where  the  thrushes  wake  before  it, 
No  more  to  the  summoning  flutes 
Of  the  forest  Andrew  Straton 
Gets  him  forth  afoot,  light-hearted, 
On  the  unfrequented  ways 
With  companionable  Spring. 

Only  the  old  dreams  return. 


123 


By  the  Aureliati    Wall 

So  I  shape  me  here  this  fancy, 
Foolish  me  !  of  Andrew  Straton  ; 
How  the  lands  of  that  new  kindred 
Have  detained  him  with  allegiance, 
And  some  far  day  I  shall  find  him, 
There  as  here  my  only  captain, 
Master  of  the  utmost  isles 
In  the  ampler  straits  of  sea. 

Out  of  the  blue  melting  distance 

Of  the  dreamy  southward  range 

Journey  back  the  vagrant  winds, 

Sure  and  indolent  as  time; 

And  the  trembling  wakened  wood-flowers 

Lift  their  gentle  tiny  faces 


124 


Andrew  Straton 

To  the  sunlight;  and  the  rainbirds 
From  the  lonely  cedar  barrens 
Utter  their  far  pleading  cry. 

Up  across  the  swales  and  burnt  lands 
Where  the  soft  gray  tinges  purple, 
Mouldering  into  scarlet  mist, 
Comes  the  sound  as  of  a  marching, 
The  low  murmur  of  the  April 
In  the  many-rivered  hills. 

Then  there  stirs  the  old  vague  rapture, 

Like  a  wanderer  come  back, 

Still  desiring,  scathed  but  deathless, 

From  beyond  the  bourne  of  tears. 

Wayworn  to  his  vacant  cabin. 

To  this  foolish  fearless  heart. 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Soon  the  large  mild  stars  of  springtime 

Will  resume  the  ancient  twilight 

And  restore  the  heart  of  earth 

To  unvexed  eternal  poise; 

For  the  great  Will,  calm  and  lonely, 

Can  no  mortal  grief  derange, 

No  lost  memories  perturb; 

And  the  sluices  of  the  morning 

Will  be  opened,  and  the  daybreak 

Well  with  bird-calls  and  with  brook-notes, 

Till  there  be  no  more  despair 

In  the  gold  dream  of  the  world. 


126 


THE  GRAVE-TREE 

Let  me  have  a  scarlet  maple 
For  the  grave-tree  at  my  head, 
With  the  quiet  sun  behind  it, 
In  the  years  when  I  am  dead. 

Let  me  have  it  for  a  signal, 
Where  the  long  winds  stream  and  stream, 
Clear  across  the  dim  blue  distance, 
Like  a  horn  blown  in  a  dream; 

127 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

Scarlet  when  the  April  vanguard 
Bugles  up  the  laggard  Spring, 
Scarlet  when  the  bannered  Autumn, 
Marches  by  unwavering. 

It  will  comfort  me  with  honey 
When  the  shining  rifts  and  showers 
Sweep  across  the  purple  valley 
And  bring  back  the  forest  flowers. 

It  will  be  my  leafy  cabin, 
Large  enough  when  June  returns 
And  I  hear  the  golden  thrushes 
Flute  and  hesitate  by  turns. 


128 


The  Grave-Tree 

And  in  fall,  some  yellow  morning, 
When  the  stealthy  frost  has  come, 
Leaf  by  leaf   it  will  befriend  me 
As  with  comrades  going  home. 

Let  me  have  the  Silent  Valley 
And  the  hill  that  fronts  the  east, 
So  that  I  can  watch  the  morning 
Redden  and  the  stars  released. 

Leave  me  in  the  Great  Lone  Country, 
For  I  shall  not  be  afraid 
With  the  shy  moose  and  the  beaver 
There  within  my  scarlet  shade. 


129 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

I  would  sleep,  but  not  too  soundly, 
Where  the  sunning  partridge  drums, 
Till  the  crickets  hush  before  him 
When  the  Scarlet  Hunter  comes. 

That  will  be  in  warm  September, 
In  the  stillness  of  the  year, 
Whei\  the  river-blue  is  deepest 
And  the  other  world  is  near. 

When  the  apples  burn  their  reddest 
And  the  corn  is  in  the  sheaves, 
I  shall  stir  and  waken  lightly 
At  a  footfall  in  the  leaves. 


130 


The  Grave-Tree 

It  will  be  the  Scarlet  Hunter 
Come  to  tell  me  time  is  done; 
On  the  idle  hills  forever 
There  will  stand  the  idle  sun. 

There  the  wind  will  stay  to  whisper 
Many  wonders  to  the  reeds; 
But  I  shall  not  fear  to  follow 
Where  my  Scarlet  Hunter  leads.' 

I  shall  know  him  in  the  darkling 
Murmur  of  the  river  bars, 
While  his  feet  are  on  the  mountains 
Treading  out  the  smoldering  stars. 


131 


By  the  Aurelian  Wall 

I  shall  know  him,  in  the  sunshine 
Sleeping  in  my  scarlet  tree, 
Long  before  he  halts  beside  it 
Stooping  down  to  summon  me. 

Then  fear  not,  my  friends,  to  leave  me 
In  the  boding  autumn  vast; 
There  are  many  things  to  think  of 
When  the  roving  days  are  past. 

Leave  me  by  the  scarlet  maple, 
When  the  journeying  shadows  fail. 
Waiting  till  the  Scarlet  Hunter 
Pass  upon  the  endless  trail. 


132 


^MiiMi 


DATE  DUE 

CAYLORO 

PHINT  ED  IN  U    S    A 

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